


Desperate measures

by fromthedeskoftheraven



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Humor, Misunderstandings, Mouth-to-Mouth, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, hint of potential romance?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-17
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-08-09 09:52:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7797211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fromthedeskoftheraven/pseuds/fromthedeskoftheraven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Company are confused by CPR after Thorin is attacked by Azog and his wargs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Desperate measures

The eagle landed – more smoothly than you’d expected – on the rugged summit of a massive spur of rock that jutted up into the golden dawn sky. You tumbled off of its back none too gracefully, thankful to be back on solid ground, and lay with a steadying sigh on the sun-warmed stone.

All around you, the other eagles were delivering their cargo, and the remainder of the company arrived by ones and twos, reuniting with shaky smiles and concerned headcounts. Your own eyes quickly fell on Thorin’s battered body where he lay only a few steps away, and with fear gripping your heart like a fist, you scrambled to kneel at his side.

“Thorin,” you murmured, jostling his shoulder and finding him unresponsive, then, louder, “Thorin!”

His pulse was thready and faint beneath your fingers, and no breath stirred beneath your ear when you leaned close to test it. You vaguely felt anxious eyes on you as you set about trying to remember the fuzzy details of the CPR class you’d taken in what seemed like another lifetime, racking your brain for the ratio of compressions to breaths, muttering words of encouragement to yourself as you gently tilted Thorin’s chin upward with trembling hands.

“Okay…establish clear airway…and…or…compressions? Compressions first. I think.”

Thorin’s chest barely moved under your efforts as you tried valiantly to shift his ribs with your flattened palms, and a buzz of distressed murmurs from the assembled dwarves only faintly reached your ears through the rushing sound of your own pulse. 

_Curse dwarves and their iron skeletons,_ you thought, taking Thorin’s chin in your hand again. With a deep breath, you bent over him, sealing your mouth over his, and as you blew steadily between his parted lips, the Company exploded in confusion and scandal behind you.

“What the _blazes_ –”   
“Lass, this is hardly the time…”   
“I didn’t even know she fancied him, did you?”   
“Ori, look away!”

You ignored them, throwing your full weight into compressions again, inwardly pleading with Thorin’s body to respond. Gathering another breath, you opened your mouth and swooped once more toward Thorin’s face, only to suck in an even larger, dizzying gasp upon finding yourself looking down into a pair of wide, alarmed, sky-blue eyes.

“Thorin!” You clapped your hand to your own chest, startled by his sudden return to consciousness, and he stared at you with an utterly poleaxed expression as he dragged himself to a sitting position.

“What were you doing?”

“I was just, um…helping you,” you said, reaching meekly to smooth the rumpled front of his tunic. “It’s…a lifesaving technique.”

“Is that what they’re calling it these days?” Bofur interjected mildly, musing, “though, I suppose a good one might…” before a glare from Dwalin shut him up.

“I see,” Thorin nodded, an air of confusion still hanging about him, but your trespass was soon forgotten when he muttered something about “the halfling,” shaking off all offers of help as he rose unsteadily to his feet and headed toward Bilbo with thunder on his brow.

* * *

You had stolen a moment of solitude, tucked into one of the haystacks in a cozy corner of the stables that made up one end of Beorn’s home, enjoying the simple amusement of watching one of the oversized honeybees that buzzed and butted clumsily at your outstretched hand.

The bee drifted away to join one of its fellows in investigating a fresh heap of green clover in a goat’s stall, and with your attention drawn by a movement in the doorway, you looked up in time to catch a rosy-cheeked, yellow apple that had sailed from Thorin’s hand where he leaned against one of the wooden beams.

“Thanks,” you grinned, and one corner of his mouth quirked upward in his enigmatic half smile as he walked toward your hiding place.

“I hope nobody saw you come back here,” you added, with a small roll of your eyes, “I’ve already had several _hilarious_ offers to leave us the barn to ourselves tonight, ‘to finish what I started.’“

“Not to worry. They are much occupied with exploring our host’s larder,” he said with a wry smile, gesturing toward the haystack. “May I?”

“Of course.” You saw him wince, lowering himself to sit beside you, and looked down at the apple cradled in your hands as you asked sheepishly, “how are your ribs?”

“ **Don’t worry about me.** Gandalf’s magic has refreshed me, and you did no harm…certainly nothing like a warg’s jaws.” He gave you a reassuring glance, though he fell silent, a pensive look coming over him that tugged at your heart.

“I’m so sorry about Azog,” you said, and he gave you a nod of acknowledgement, still thoughtful.

“I was so certain he was dead,” he admitted, with a hopeless shake of his head. “Or perhaps I merely wished to believe it.”

“We’re all behind you, Thorin,” you encouraged. “We’ll do whatever needs to be done to see the quest through.”

“I am grateful for what you did for me today,” Thorin said, turning a searching gaze on you. “You are as clever and resourceful and loyal as any dwarf in this company.”

“It’s the least I can do, given that I’d have been food for the wargs long ago if you lot hadn’t taken me in when you found me,” you smiled, and there was warmth in his answering smile, despite his melancholy thoughts.

“Well, I should leave you in peace,” he said, a rare gleam of humor coming into his eyes as he roused himself gingerly to stand. “It’s been at least an hour since Nori has collapsed to the floor, claiming to need your assistance, and I should hate to encourage more merriment.”

“I’m truly indebted to you,” you chuckled.

He ambled toward the kitchen, but slowed to a stop at the last stall. “You know,” he said, running his fingers studiously over the carvings on a wooden beam, “if you _had_ wished to kiss me…you had only to say so.”

He flashed you a small, sly grin, and left you alone with the animals and your burning cheeks.


End file.
